Posted by John Lambert on July 31, 2009 at 23:18:03 user John.
In Reply to: Re: Thoughts on posted by Peter Ceresole on July 27, 2009 at 21:51:35:
The view has been expressed that although WD is such a compelling story, it is not a favourite. I feel the same way, perhaps because it too much of an ordeal. There is little time to take a breath and think things over. You can't do that when you're trying to survive in a sudden storm in the North Sea. This book speaks to me personally too. English Bay, off Vancouver harbour, is usually a peaceful stretch of water. Sometimes, however, it can get very nasty. Nasty enough to drive huge freighters onto the rocks. I was out in my 27 foot sloop with a couple of female friends one winter's day when a sudden northwester bowled down the coast and into the Bay. There was just enough time to reef, then something happened. One of the part side shrouds parted from its turnbuckle. When that happens, you have to secure it as quickly as possible. The wind filling the sail puts extra force on the remaining two shrouds. If they go, you lose your mast. With this in mind I scrambled forward over the wet sloping sidedeck and lunged for the flying shroud. Most shrouds are metal cables and can cut open your face if you're not careful. Just as I lunged, the boat heeled to windward and I nearly went over. "John! John!" one of the ladies screamed from the cockpit. Instantly I remembered Susan's cry in WD. Art mirrors life? Well, I grabbed that elusive shroud and fastened it down to the turnbuckle and secured it with a few turns of wire. Yes, that's what it must have been like for John crossing the North Sea. Fear in your belly, frightened eyes on you, and the knowledge that you've got to overcome that fear and do what's needed. No, trying to control a small boat in 40 knot winds is no picnic. You're wet, cold and frightened. Remember what the old sailors used to say: "The man who would sail for a pastime would go to hell for pleasure." And yet - what wouldn't I give to be standing on the foredeck again and feel her come alive under my feet. No wonder they call sailing vessels "she." She trembles, not because of the engine, which is OFF, but because of the thumping of the seas against her bow. The sails pull against the sheets and the shrouds and the whole vessel strains forward, trying to lift herself up and cut through the waves. And the noise! The roar of the waves, the howling of the wind, the singing of the shrouds. Once experienced, never forgotten.